


Isolation

by TetrodotoxinB



Series: Whumptober 2019 [7]
Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Buried Alive, Day 7, Prompt: isolation, Self-Imposed Isolation, Steve being a stoic moron, Steve's stellar coping skills, Whumptober 2019, small spaces
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-12-01 23:34:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20935484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TetrodotoxinB/pseuds/TetrodotoxinB
Summary: Because being forcibly isolated isn't enough, Steve also has to try his hand at it.Whumptober prompt: Isolation.





	Isolation

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by [Secret_Library98](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Secret_Library98/pseuds/Secret_Library98).

It’s not the longest that he’s been held in isolation, not by a long shot. But when Danny pries the lid off the concrete box that Steve had thought might be his coffin, it feels like years since he’s seen the sun. 

Lou and Junior help him out of the hole, but it’s Danny that checks Steve over, turning him around and patting here and there. 

“Hey, you all in one piece? We need to take you to the hospital? No, don’t answer that. If it was me in your place, would you make me go to the hospital?” Danny demands, his hands waving wildly.

Steve shakes his head. “No, Danno. I’m okay. They tased me but no other damage.”

Danny nods, though he seems to be reserving his final ruling on the matter for later. “Alright, babe. Come on. Let’s get you outta here.”

Steve nods and turns to follow Danny, his legs still shaky from the change in position, but not before taking one final look at what was very nearly his final resting place. It seemed small when he was in it, but looking at it from above ground it seems almost impossible that he had ever fit. Quickly, he looks away and allows Danny to led him to the Camaro.

*****

When they got to Steve’s place, he insisted on Danny dropping him off. Danny had of course argued vehemently that Steve ought to have someone to keep him company, but Steve had made it an order: “Someone has to go finish everything up and I’m not in any shape to do it. Just go, Danny. I’ll be fine.” 

After some muttered swear words and a promise that he’d be back later — something which Steve expressly forbade — Danny had left to go back to HQ and finish processing the bastards that had put Steve in a concrete tomb for nearly thirty hours.

But now that’s done. The perps are processed, complete with signed confessions, and they’re property of HPD. Danny has fulfilled his obligation to 5-0 for the day, but he’ll be damned if he just goes home without checking on Steve first. 

As he heads east on the H1 towards Aina Haina, Danny considers calling ahead, but he ultimately decides against it because all it would do is give Steve time to fabricate an excuse to evade him. He needs to catch Steve off-guard if he wants to get a clear picture of how Steve’s actually doing. 

Before he turns into the drive, Danny kills the lights on the Camaro with the intention of catching Steve unawares. But Danny’s caution seems to be pointless because when he keys into Steve’s house, he’s just sitting there on the sofa and staring at the empty bottle in his hands.

“Hey, Steve,” Danny calls softly as he closes the door.

Steve sniffles and brushes quickly at his cheeks. “Everything alright? I thought you’d have gone home after work.”

Danny snorts and flops down on the sofa next to Steve. “You only thought that because you asked me to go home after work. I never agreed to that.”

Steve only nods and rolls the empty bottle between his hands, but he doesn’t look at Danny.

“Hey,” Danny says again and gently pushes Steve’s arm. “What’s going on in there, huh? You look like shit, babe.”

Steve sniffles again and shrugs. “Just a long day.”

“Uh huh. And how many of those have you had?” Danny asks, motioning at the bottle.

“Just three,” Steve answers, setting the empty bottle on the coffee table.

They sit there, in the depressing dark of Steve’s living room, until Steve clears his throat. “I’m tired, Danny. Go home. I’ll see you in the morning.”

He moves to get up and Danny stands too, blocking his way.

“Danny-”

“Huh uh. We’re gonna talk about this because being locked inside that little box got inside your head, and you’re drinking alone, in the dark, and trying to pretend like you haven’t been crying. You’re not okay,” Danny says. He’s not asking Steve to confirm it — Steve wouldn’t anyway — but it needs to be said.

Steve looks annoyed by the observation but responds anyway. “It’s not the first time I’ve been in a situation like that. I’ll be fine.”

“Right. You’ll ‘be fine,’ but you’re not right now, so I’m not leaving.”

Steve rubs his hand over his face and sighs. “Yeah, okay? I’m upset. I thought I was gonna die in there, alright? Shit like this happens on the job. We deal with it, we move on. Don’t make this into-”

Danny steps into Steve’s space and pokes him in the chest. “_I_ am not making this into ‘something.’ _You_ are the one-”

“I’m not doing anything!” Steve shouts. “I’m trying to deal with what happened! How’s that wrong? How is everything I do wrong, Danny?”

“It’s wrong because you’re not letting me help!” Danny screams back.

“You wanna help? Then get out! Give me some fucking privacy! Stop forcing me to deal with _your_ feelings about what happened!!!”

Danny waves his arms, in what little space he has between his and Steve’s chests. “_My_ emotions? My emotions about this consist of worry for you, you great big idiot! And I’m not going to leave just to make it easier for you to bottle all this up!”

Steve seems to deflate a bit, but given the hour and everything Steve’s just been through, he could just be too tired to keep going. “Fine. What do you propose we do about it?”

Danny shrugs. He hadn’t really planned this far ahead in his visit. “I don’t know. Why don’t we sit out on the lawn, or out in the chairs? We don’t have to talk.”

“Really? After all this, you’re not going to make me talk?” Steve grouses. He grabs the empty bottle from the table and pushes past Danny towards the kitchen. 

Danny rolls his eyes and follows along behind. “Now you’re complaining that I’m not going to psychoanalyze you? Make up your mind.”

Steve wordlessly opens the fridge and offers Danny a beer, and they make their way out to the Adirondacks, where the lawn meets the sand. It’s quiet out here, just the soft lapping of the receding tide. Danny drinks his beer slowly and tries to let Steve set the pace. Patience isn’t Danny’s strong suit but for Steve he’s willing to put in the effort.

As it turns out, though, Danny doesn’t have to wait as long as he expected. Though to be fair, he had expected to be waiting until he died for Steve to open up.

“I thought I was gonna die down there,” Steve says quietly.

Danny suppresses the urge to point out that Steve’s already said that. “You were alone.”

Steve nods and sniffles. “I’ve nearly died more times than I can count. I didn’t think it scared me anymore.”

“Being shot is a whole lot different than suffocating from being buried alive,” Danny points out. It’s maybe not the most delicate way to put it, but it cuts to the root of it all. 

Steve nods. “Yeah,” he whispers.

Danny watches the glow of the city lights reflect off the water across the bay. It’s calm out here, expansive, and Danny feels two days’ worth of panic and fear and dread bleed off of him. But where Danny’s tension ebbs, Steve begins to fidget uncomfortably.

“You need to go in, babe?”

“Yeah,” Steve answers, nodding. His voice rasps like he’s trying to conceal yet more unshed tears, and Danny grabs his empty beer bottle and rises to accompany him.

They take their empties to the recycling bin and Danny walks Steve back to the living room, boxing him in by the sofa where he can’t escape up the stairs. Steve hems and haws, seemingly trying to decide if he wants to sit and give in to Danny’s obvious plan, or somehow negotiate his way past Danny, but before he can decide, Danny’s already paperthin patience gives out.

“Come here,” Danny orders, opening his arms wide.

“Danny-”

“Shut up.”

Before Steve can work himself up over it, Danny wraps his arms around Steve, pulling him tight. For a moment, Steve just stands there completely rigid, but Danny knows Steve — he’s a sucker for a hug at almost any moment. And sure enough, before Danny can count to five, Steve’s wrapped around him like an octopus. 

“There you go, babe,” Danny says softly as he runs his hand up and down Steve’s back.

Steve’s fingers bunch in the fabric of Danny’s shirt and Danny knows that this is what Steve’s been needing all along but was too ashamed to ask for. 

_It’s not the first time…_

As Steve starts to cry and Danny carefully navigates him onto the sofa, Danny has to wonder how many times Steve has drunk a few beers and swallowed his pain because SEALs don’t simply ask for what they need, not when it’s a hurt like this. But Danny already knows that the answer is “every time” because of how startled Steve always seems when Danny simply _cares._

Danny sniffles and blinks back his own tears, pulling Steve tighter. “I got you, babe. I got you. You’re safe. I’m not going anywhere.”

But Steve’s already pulling back and wiping his eyes. “Sorry.”

Danny narrows his eyes at Steve, though Steve probably can’t tell in the low light. “Shut up.”

Steve laughs wetly. “Okay, I’ll shut up. You wanna watch the game?”

“Of course, I wanna watch the game! I missed it when I was out looking for your goofy ass. You did DVR it, right?” Danny asks as he kicks off his shoes.

“‘Course I did,” Steve replies, seemingly taken aback that he might not record Danny’s weekly football game. 

While Steve fumbles with the remote, Danny grabs some blankets out of the linen closet and gets situated on the sofa.

“You comfortable over there?” Steve asks as the game starts.

“Would be more comfortable if you would just lie down already and stop sitting all awkwardly on the other end of the sofa like I’ve got leprosy,” Danny grumbles.

“It’s Hansen’s disease,” Steve mutters absently.

Danny watches Steve as he assesses the sofa and its contents like he’s developing a tactical solution to a dangerous situation. Then, _finally,_ he lies down behind between Danny and the back of the sofa.

“What is it with you? You always have to be the big spoon. Is that some SEAL thing they teach you? ‘Keep the high ground, always be the big spoon,’” Danny snarks.

“Will you shut up, Danno? I’m trying to watch the game.”

Danny grumbles a bit more about how Steve doesn’t even like the Giants so what does he care, but Steve doesn’t bother to respond. When Danny turns his head, Steve’s already asleep, his cheek pillowed against Danny’s shoulder. Danny smiles and snags the remote from the coffee table.

They can watch the game tomorrow.


End file.
